Chapter 7 The Gamester by Rafael Sabatini
WARNINGS
Throughout that spring, the affairs of his Bank were expanding in every direction and the Mississippi Company gradually increasing in credit. If the shares were still well below their face value of five hundred livres, this was no more than natural, considering the temptingly reduced terms on which they had been issued.
Mr Law moved without haste now that he felt assured of ultimately prevailing, and he devoted a deal of attention to tightening relations with the Regent. In this he encountered no difficulty. He was encouraged more cordially than ever to frequent the Palais Royal, and was always received there by His Highness with easy affability.
Sometimes he renewed acquaintance with the Regent's laboratory, and discovered how wide was that versatile prince's knowledge of chemistry and medicine. Sometimes he was entertained in the tennis court. His prowess there was such that the Regent, who delighted in the game but was an indifferent performer, would match him against Biron or Canillac or another of his best players and watch with interest the Scot's display of mastery. At another time it would be in the salle d'armes that Mr Law would be required to exhibit a skill in swordsmanship that took full advantage of his height and uncommon reach.
On one occasion he was again admitted to that inner circle of intimates with whom the Regent made up those supper parties of which the fame, distorted by calumny into infamy, was being bruited through the land. Here His Highness set aside the last remnant of his royalty, to become the boon companion of guests whose motley quality was a surprise to Mr Law and diminished his pride in being among them.
Biron and Canillac were of these, as well as the Duke of Brancas and three or four others of those whom the Regent described as his roués, and who gloried in the description, besides less regular guests such as the Count of Horn and the actor Bouldac.
To the ladies of the great world, including Madame de Parabère, the Regent's present maîtresse-en-titre, appropriately named, it was said, Marie-Magdalène, Madame de Sabran, who had formerly held that exalted office, Madame de Phalaris, who was presently to succeed to it, and--amazingly to Mr Law--the Regent's own daughter, the Duchess of Berri, were added a couple of opera-girls, whose conduct, scandalously loose, was almost a pattern of decorum to their nobler sisters.
Servants were excluded, so as to abolish all restraint. If in one sense this was desirable enough, in another it left speculation of what occurred behind those closed doors to paint a picture far more scabrous than any that reality could have presented. Yet the reality in the eyes of Mr Law, who was not squeamish, was scabrous enough.
The abundant, rich and varied cold buffet, which the servants spread before departing, was supplemented by hot dishes cooked upon the spot by means of spirit stoves and kitchen batteries entirely of silver. Here, whilst Madame de Sabran fried exquisite little Italian sausages in one pan, Madame de Parabère made an omelette royale in another, with cocks' combs and carps' roes, and explained to the astonished Mr Law that the secret of its excellence lay in an extravagance of butter.
At table all ate to excess, following the example of the Regent, whose peculiar notion of gastronomic hygiene was to make this his only square meal of the day, his dinner consisting of no more than a cup of chocolate.
They drank to an excess even greater, and in a measure as the wine flowed, the talk loosened. Witty at first and ranging indifferently over a variety of topics, it would quickly become ribald, and then, more limited in subject, licentious and even grivois. And in a measure as the wit faltered the laughter grew, and in lack of restraint the pretty young Duchess of Berri was without a rival in that abandoned company.
By four o'clock in the morning, the Regent in his armchair amiably somnolent, leered upon a drunken company and at last announced that it was time for bed.
Mr Law, almost the only one to walk without a stagger, and thereby increasing the Regent's regard for him, courteously declined the further proffered hospitality coyly pressed upon him by one of the opera-girls, and came out into the chilly dawn by the little side door that opened upon the Rue de Richelieu. He awoke his chairmen who waited there, and had himself carried home, reflecting that a wise man should sup as rarely as possible with princes.
It resulted from his having been presented to the gay Duchess of Berri in such intimate surroundings that he received a few days later an invitation for himself and Catherine to a ball at her Grace's Palace of the Luxembourg, where she assembled the very flower of the Court.
There, at some time after midnight, the Regent with the imposingly lovely Madame de Parabère on his arm, sauntering through the succession of splendid scented antechambers, all gaily lighted and gaily peopled, came upon his daughter punting at a faro table under the guidance of Mr Law. The tall, dark Scot, resplendent in gold brocade, white stockings and red-heeled shoes with glittering buckles, leaned over her Grace's chair, directing her play.
The dealer was the elderly Marquis de Dangeau, a player of skill, who had the repute of enjoying the favour of Fortune. Tonight, however, it appeared that neither skill nor luck availed him against the Duchess and the famous martingale of Mr Law, by which her punting was governed. Gold and notes flowed in a steady stream across the table, to swell the pile that rose before her Grace.
The Regent paused, a hand familiarly on Law's shoulder. "In the intervals of mending my fortune I find you engaged in making my daughter's. I would I had more friends as devoted to my family."
"Your Highness suffers from no lack of friends," said Mr Law.
"But they--alas!--suffer from a lack of your Midas' touch."
"Is that so enviable? King Midas found it a curse."
"He lived in other times. Today, though I hate to confess it, there is nothing that gold will not do for you."
"I cannot boast that I have found it so," said Mr Law.
"He is lugubrious," said the Duchess. "Like a victim of unrequited love."
The Regent pinched her cheek. "You assume too much, Jouflotte. But I interrupt. Continue to strip the Marquis naked."
"Fie! He is no longer of an age to bear the exposure."
The Regent laughed, and sauntered on with Madame de Parabère, and very soon thereafter Dangeau got up to announce that he had had enough, and that whoever cared for it might take his place.
The Duchess waited for no more. She rose, ordered an elegant stripling who attended her, discharging the functions of an equerry, to collect her winnings, and commanded Mr Law's escort to the ballroom.
Side by side the tall Scot and the gay, plump little Duchess, who was a blaze of diamonds upon shimmering white, passed from room to room through the dense courtier throng, and so came to the threshold of the ballroom, whence fiddles, flutes and hautbois were giving forth the strains of a minuet. Here, in a space which deference for him had made, stood the Regent with Madame de Parabère, observing the scene.
In the middle of the great ballroom a square had been cleared and was maintained by four lackeys, one at each corner, serving as posts for a heavy rope of scarlet silk which offered a barrier to the glittering throng. Within that square a half-score of couples were treading the measure.
"We are too late," said the Duchess. "It was my hope, Baron, to step it with you, in token of my gratitude."
"And in defiance of your rank?"
"Oh, as to that, I can sometimes be my father's daughter."
The Regent spoke over his shoulder. "Too often, alas! For I am hardly the model father. But is it possible that you have denied Dangeau his revenge?"
"He owned defeat, and fled the field. As for me, as a gambler I am ruined; for I vow that I shall never again dare to sit down to faro unless Monsieur Lass is beside me."
But the Regent was no longer listening. Madame de Parabère had claimed his attention for an approaching couple. The man richly dressed in black was short, elderly and wizened, his sallow face deeply lined. Short as he was, yet he was under the necessity of stooping so as to catch the words of his companion whom from her stature you might suppose a child had not her face corrected the impression, a sharp, petulant face with a pointed chin and dark, staring eyes. They were the Prince of Cellamare, the Spanish ambassador, and the Duchess of Maine; and the sight of them in such intimate conversation awakened memories in Mr Law of what the Earl of Stair had told him. It appeared to have a similar effect upon Madame de Parabère, for she was murmuring to the Regent: "You see?" adding almost indignantly the question, "How does she dare to be here?"
The couple in their passage had come close, and the little golden-haired woman's fierce expression changed abruptly, as she caught sight of them and found herself observed. She broke off in her speech to Cellamare, and paused to drop a curtsy to the Regent, who, smiling, acknowledged it by an inclination of the head and a lift of the hand. As she passed on with her escort, he answered Madame de Parabère's question.
"Faith, is my daughter to close her doors to my brother-in-law's wife?"
"When she permits herself to threaten you."
"Shall I take account of the outbursts of a lady in a temper?" He spoke with his easy tolerance. "If I were to deal vindictively with all those who inveigh against me, I could fill the Bastille from the attendance here tonight."
"I thank you, sir, for your opinion of my guests," said his daughter.
"It is that he must make light of everything," Madame de Parabère complained. "Will you tell me, Philippe, what that little dwarf has to do with the ambassador of Spain that she should be so close and intimate with him?"
"Fie, madame! What are you suggesting? Monsieur de Cellamare may no longer be as young as Madame du Maine's friends might wish. Still, if she displays a taste for the antique, who are we to sit in judgment."
Madame de Parabère became prim. "That is not amusing. If that woman had her way, you would be at war with Spain by now."
"Likely enough," he agreed. "So we may laugh when we reflect how much there is to frustrate such wickedness. There is no lack of those who wave this bogey before my eyes. Even Monsieur Lass, here, has been guilty of it, and now behold milord Stair, another of the same fraternity."
His lordship, all in white, with the star of the Thistle on his breast and Madame Raymond on his arm was drawn by the Regent into his group. He was all compliments and felicitations for the Duchess on the splendour of her ball, full of glib adulation for the Regent, and then permitted himself a flattering allusion to Mrs Law which was calculated to sting.
"I do not remember to have seen the Baroness in such beauty as tonight. Monsieur de Horn is likely to have a dozen challenges on his hands before morning from the gallants whose eagerness he is frustrating."
"You should beware of the Comte de Horn, Monsieur Lass," tittered Madame Raymond. "A very dangerous man."
Mr Law smiled. "But we'll hope not rash."
"Hope!" She tittered again. "Hope is the dream of those that wake. So says Lord Stair."
"He reads too much poetry," said Mr Law.
"Horn writes it," the Regent warned him. "For a gentleman, a rather gifted rhymster. It ensures him a welcome at Madame du Maine's poetical court at Sceaux."
"Take heed, Baron," the Duchess rallied. "He looks as if he might be making verses now."
Following the direction of her glance across the thronged ballroom, to a semi-circular alcove, his eyes had found his wife. She occupied a little rounded settle placed under a white statue of Diana, and the lower half of her face was screened by her fan.
Her petticoat of lace frills and rosebuds on a ground of ivory satin filled the settle on either side of her, so that there was room for no one else. But over the back of it, his youthful head almost touching hers at moments, leaned the Count of Horn, in an attitude infinitely more intimate than any in which he might have sat beside her.
Mr Law was at his ease. "If that be so, I can trust Madame Law to supply him with all the rhymes for impudence that he may need."
"Sublime faith!" Stair mocked him.
"And fortunate for Monsieur de Horn," laughed the Duchess. "Monsieur Lass, if what we have heard is true, has not always been quite so trusting."
"I have not always had the same grounds for trust," said he. "But give me leave. It is possible that this good Monsieur de Horn is waiting to be relieved." Bowing, he detached himself from the group, leaving the Duchess in the care of the Marquis de Canillac, and was gone.
Stair's eyes followed him balefully. He found himself suddenly alone with Madame Raymond. The Regent and his ladies had moved off into the ballroom, where the minuet was now coming to its end.
"Insolent upstart," he muttered under his breath.
Tinkling laughter answered him from his companion. "Horn will lower his crest for him. It's but a question of time with that homme à femmes, once he's committed to the chase."
"I wish him luck, and, faith, he'll need it. The Laird of Lauriston can be dangerous."
She was scornful. "So I've heard. But he does not look dangerous now. At least he seems to know his place."
Mr Law had joined his wife and Horn, and could be seen addressing the Count with every sign of courteous affability before offering his arm to Catherine.
"You must beware, my dear, of abusing the graciousness of Monsieur le Comte by too long an encroachment upon his attention."
Horn wondered, was he mocked, but deemed it best to take the speech at its face value. "Sir," he protested, "you state the opposite of the fact. The encroachment was mine; the graciousness madame's."
"That is to smother all in condescension. We take our leave, monsieur."
He bowed. Catherine sank in a curtsy, extending a languid hand. Horn, raising her by it, bore her fingers to his lips, with a murmured "Serviteur!"
Not until they were home, and the sleek Laguyon had ministered to their needs and been dismissed, whilst Catherine, herself, was on the point of withdrawing, did Mr Law offer any comment.
"A moment, Catherine, if you please. I have a word to say."
On her way to the door she paused and half turned. The ungraciousness of her tone was normal and calculated. "Will it not keep until morning? My woman is waiting to undress me."
"I will make it brief," he assured her, coldly courteous. "Indeed, no more than a word. A word of warning."
"Of warning?" Her brows were puckered.
"Against abusing this graciousness of Monsieur de Horn. That was how I described it to him. But I doubt he has no sense of irony. Probably little sense of any kind. A mere animal."
She had swung completely round and was staring at him. A sudden pallor overspread her face. There was a queer light in her eyes, a queer smile parting her full lips, almost an eagerness in her voice. "My God! Is it possible that you are jealous?"
"No, ma'am. It is not possible. But I do not care to be the butt of ribaldries. I do not care to be told, as I was told by Lord Stair's Madame Raymond, that Monsieur de Horn is a dangerous man. You will oblige me, Catherine, by remembering it."
The abrupt change in her expression might have been revealing had he been properly attentive. The queer, almost eager little smile perished on lips that were suddenly distorted. From pale that they had been, her face and neck were scarlet now. Her eyes blazed. From the depths of her indignation she seemed unable to draw words.
But he was not looking at her. "It may profit you also," he was adding, "to remember another man who was reputed dangerous."
"Is that a threat?"
"To Monsieur le Comte, perhaps."
Her anger boiled over at last. She struck to wound, blindly. "You fool! Do you think a man of his blood would cross swords with a...a...professional gambler?"
He smiled and sighed as he answered. "So that already you compare me to my disadvantage with your cicisbeo. No matter. You are warned. I'll not detain you. I have no more to say."
"But I have," she cried, which need not have surprised him; and thereafter she said it, pouring over him a torrent of words that held little sense. "I am warned, am I? Of what am I warned? What is there, do you suppose, that I can fear? Nothing that you could do. Embroil yourself if you choose with the Count of Horn. He will break you for your pains; break you like the rotten make-believe you are. Who are you, what are you, to match yourself with a man of his quality, to vent your evil spleen for no better reason than because he chooses to be my friend?"
Her anger mounting ever, fanned perhaps by the cold impassivity in which he stood before her, she raged on: "Am I to deny myself all friends because I have the misfortune to be your wife? Your wife! When I am not even that. Your victim; your prisoner. You are a fool to suppose a woman would submit to it. And, anyway, you had better understand that I am not that woman. And what manner of husband are you that you dare to reproach me with encouraging gallantries? Why should I not, if it suits my inclination? What fidelity do I owe you? How many infidelities of yours have I not endured and condoned in these miserable years? You warn me, do you? Let me warn you in my turn that I am no man's slave and no man's chattel. I belong to myself. Understand that. I'll have the bestowal of myself as to me seems best."
She paused there a moment, staring at him; as if waiting for his reply. But as he offered none, either in defence or in remonstrance, she finally exploded, sobbing: "So now you, too, are warned."
On that she swung round again, and swept weeping in fury from the room.